


Dangers in the night

by glass_phoenix



Category: Being Human (UK), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Very slight allusions of Kíli pining for Fíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_phoenix/pseuds/glass_phoenix
Summary: You know that disturbing feeling, waking up in the middle of the night when you are supposed to be alone, and feeling there is somebody else in the room with you? Sometimes it's not just a dream-induced hallucination...-------------“What are you?” he whispers, asking again. Trying to make some sense of all this. Mitchell freezes behind him. For a minute, nothing moves but Kíli’s heaving chest. He is still hard, and he is beginning to suspect it’s the danger turning him on so much. It’s an unsettling thought, but then everything in this situation is unsettling.“Vampire.” It’s whispered against his neck. Kíli has heard of them in the legends. Blood drinkers. So his instincts were right. It’s not much of a consolation, however.





	Dangers in the night

Instincts sending warnings to his sleep addled brain, kicking his body into action. Swift turn with tangled blankets towards the window, trying to catch the dagger he keeps next to his bed. Vision against the moonlight, a shadow.

Rush of air moving and he’s pinned against his bed. A cold hand gripping his wrists above his head, another against his mouth, stifling any sound. His initial panic is overridden by anger for the nerve of the invader. He struggles, trying to throw his silent assailant off. It’s like trying to throw off a boulder. No one should be that strong. After what feels like an eternity he finally gives in. _Compose yourself_ , he tells himself. _Observe. Find a way out._

The weight on top of him doesn’t move, and time seems to stand still. With the meagre moonlight coming through the window, he can see the outline of a man-sized figure. Human? Elf? Too strong, neither a man nor an elf could keep him down like this. And the feeling of danger creeping along his spine would not come with them. Something else then? Cold hands. Cold as _death_. _Fíli! Mother!_ He is suddenly so very scared for them.

“Easy there.” A low whisper. Such a normal sounding voice. Human’s voice, he thinks. But the feeling of danger, of death, doesn’t subside. And his instincts have always served him well.

Cold breath next to his ear. “If I take my hand off, will you be quiet? I’ll have to gag you otherwise. And if someone hears your cry--” The tone has a menacing undercurrent.  “—too bad for them.”

He swallows, a mixed ball of panic and anger churning in his stomach, and he stares at the dark silhouette crouched over him. Whatever this creature is, it’s dangerous. Deadly. But it is not going to kill him immediately or he would be dead already, he thinks. Maybe it enjoys tormenting its victims. Are there more? Are his brother and mother okay? He needs to find out, it’s a herculean effort to push the stormy feelings in some dark corner of his mind but he manages. They will not serve him now. Slowly, he nods his head. He won’t cry out. Not yet.

The hand leaves his mouth. He draws a deep breath, which helps him to clear his mind. And since he has never been good at being mute he hisses with a low voice, “What creature are you? What do you want?”

Short silence fills the room. Then there’s howling right outside the window. The weight on top of him shudders slightly and hisses back, “I needed a place that wasn’t outside. Hear that? They were hunting me, so I came through the window.” There is a clear strain in the voice now.

He thinks that that, at least, might be the truth.

“Are you alone, then?” He suspects that is the case. He might be scared himself, but now that he is somewhat calmer, he can practically taste the desperation from the being that has him trapped.

The shadow above him doesn’t move, tense and silent, like it’s thinking whether or not it should answer. “Yes.” It’s a barely audible exhale.

So Fíli and mother are safe _._ Relief floods through him. And as long as the being stays in this room, they will stay safe.

He feels something being tied around his wrists. Tight, they are then attached to the headboard.

“Apologies for tying you up, but I don’t really trust you. I recognise a fighter when I meet one.” There’s amusement in the voice, oddly mixed with the poorly hidden desperation.

Strike of a match, and a candle on the nightstand is lit. How did his attacker find the matches so fast? The being on top of him looks human.

“Who are you? You look like a human… but you are not one. What are you?”

The dark eyes glint, weighing the answer. “What am I? It hardly matters. And really, I should ask the same from you.” The stranger smirks now, but it does not reach his eyes. “I’m afraid I have to stay in here until morning. And forgive me, I’m being a terrible guest, not introducing myself before now. You can call me Mitchell.”

The whole night? And what, his attacker doesn’t recognize what _he_ is? “You don’t recognise a dwarf when you see one? And you’re in the middle of a dwarven settlement?” Incredulous, he has a hard time keeping his voice down in the whispering range.

He catches a fleeting look of shock on the candle illuminated face, before the features go blank, not revealing anything.

The panic induced by sleepiness is now totally gone, and he’s calm. Like warrior’s calm before battle, he is waiting for the opportunity to fight, yet ready to accept death if that is how the chips will fall. He’ll be damned if he’ll let the creature – Mitchell – harm his family. “Are you going to kill me?”

A mistake, he realizes as the look on the dark eyes turns suddenly predatory. And there’s something like hunger now etched in the face above him. Hips pinning his upper thighs make a suggestive wiggle, and he is at once very aware of being fully naked under the tangle of his blankets.

The creature leans down, its cold breath ghosting his lips. “I’m trying very hard not to.” Its voice is laced with lust and he feels an answering tug at his groin. He can’t believe himself, instinct telling him he’s a hair’s breadth away from death, yet desire swirls through him like a wave.

A thumb strokes across his lip, he swallows hard and his hips buckle involuntarily. Then there is a mouth against his, claiming, demanding access. He can see the abyss opening in front of him, the damnation if he surrenders to this. But Mahal, how he yearns, years of pent up passion for somebody else seeking release in this moment. And he is no toy to be used by anyone, he tells himself. His answering kiss is savage, teeth clawing Mitchell’s lips. He may surrender to his own desires, he may be tied down, but he is a dwarf and he won’t act subdued to any creature of darkness, no matter how strong.

“Fiery thing, aren’t you.” Amusement again. He is swiftly unwrapped from the blankets and a sure hand starts slowly stroking his already hard cock. He tries to stare daggers at Mitchell, but is forced to groan and close his eyes at the amazing sensation of another’s hand on his length.

“Silent. No collateral damage, remember?” He opens his eyes and the expression on Mitchell’s handsome face is piercing. The rhythm of the light strokes stays steady regardless.

“I’ll keep silent – if you promise not to hurt – anyone else – in this house.” he huffs, breathless, pushing to the strokes as much as he can with the creatures weight on top of him.

“I swear.” The whisper is seductive and Mitchell’s dark eyes have an intense look in them. “I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”

He believes that. All of it. Mitchell wants to fuck him, that is evident even to a first timer like him, but there is more than simple carnal lust in the hungry look. He is not sure what it means, only that it’s nothing good. He has seen the same look in the eyes of starving wolves. Some beings devour pain, torture and death like dwarves devour riches.

The cool hand on his dick makes it hard to concentrate. Then Mitchell’s other hand is squeezing his nipple. “I-” an intake of breath “– accept that,” he forces out of his mouth. His heart is beating madly in his chest and there is cold sweat on his brow, but he is turned on beyond belief despite the fear coursing through his spine.

“Really?” There is a look of honest curiosity in Mitchell’s face.

This certainly wasn’t the conversation he’d imagined having the first time someone else was touching his cock. “Could you stop now – if I asked you to? Go to the other side of the room - and promise I’ll stay alive?” He’s gasping. The hand on his cock never stops.

His instinct is telling him that his best chance of survival, and of those dearest to his heart, is to succumb to this creature. To buy time and quench one hunger, hoping to so keep the other one at bay. Or at least delay it. For there is clearly real hunger, not just lust, in Mitchell’s eyes.

Mitchell does not answer, just keeps moving his other hand in slow strokes. That in itself is an answer enough.

Sharp nail scratches his nipple and the pleasure-pain makes him strain against his bonds. This is madness, he knows it. But there is fire burning in his veins, and if he has to die tonight, he wants to at least have experienced this. Maybe Mitchell is incubus, the way the creature seems to spur his lust. He closes his eyes. “Go on. I want it.”

In an incredibly fast move, he is spun over on his stomach, and Mitchell forces him to spread his legs, still keeping the weight on his thighs. The position tightens the cloth tied around his wrists, but not unbearably. His cock presses against the mattress, sweet, agonizing pressure. There is a slow caress along his spine. “What’s your name then, little dwarf?”

He takes a deep breath, then releases it. “Kíli.”

“Kíli”. There are fingers rubbing between his ass cheeks. A shiver runs over his back. “Do you have anything to… ease this?” Pressure against his hole.

He tenses up. “No, I-“

“Shh -- No matter, I’ll take care of it. Relax.” Hands massaging his cheeks, thumbs rubbing in the crease.

He almost bursts out a strangled laugh. Relaxing is hardly on the agenda in this situation. But still, he tries to release some tension when Mitchell just continues the slow massage. It might be his first time, but he is hardly an innocent in the knowledge department. He knows how to read, after all. He knows being all tense is not going to help him here.

Then, a hand vanishes from his body, and after a moment something lukewarm and wet drops low on his back. _What?_ He turns his head, trying to see what Mitchell’s doing. The creature’s mouth is red with blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s not yours”, Mitchell grins. _Yet._ Kíli thinks.

And Mahal, that’s disgusting. Or should be. _He’s using blood as_ – Kíli can’t help but push into the bedding to get some friction. He shouldn’t be turned on by all this, but he is.

There’s a finger breaching him. It’s invasive. But he can’t help but push back. All too soon Mitchell is adding another. It feels weird. But then the fingers find a spot inside him and he whimpers. The feeling of weirdness fades after a while and he is humping the bedding and pushing back on Mitchell’s fingers. It seems to go on forever. It feels so good, but Mahal, this is crazy.

Then the fingers vanish and Mitchell’s grabbing him around the waist and raising him on his knees.

“Grab the headboard so you can keep your balance.” Mitchell is whispering in his ear and gives it a lick while at the same time squeezing his balls. He’s never been this hard in his life and he pinches his eyes shut and bites his lip to keep the sounds inside. _Keep quiet, keep quiet. If they wake up he’ll kill them too. Keep Fíli and mother safe._ The fear makes his eyes sting and he blinks them furiously to force the tears back. He can’t show Mitchell how close he is to breaking. Dwarves do not _break_.

“Hush”, Mitchell hums quietly, hugging his midsection and nuzzling behind his ear. “I’ll make it good for you. You’re so sweet, Kíli. So beautiful like this.” Mitchell sounds so caring, like they really were lovers, instead of this being whatever this really is. He might have said yes, but it’s not like he has many options here. He closes his eyes and lets his head drop forward.

He wants to come, oh, he wants to come so bad and he hates Mitchell for that. He should be fighting the creature like a true dwarf warrior, but Mitchell is supernaturally strong and he can’t risk anybody else’s life getting on the line. Mitchell is going to take something from him, whether he’s willing to give it or not. The creature is desperate under that superficial and dangerous charm oozing from him.

Kíli feels a brief flair of self-blame rising. How can he be so turned on by this, he must be twisted to like this in _any_ way. Maybe it is indeed better if he doesn’t survive the night. How can he ever look Fíli in the eyes after this?

There seems to be a lull in the proceedings. Mitchell is still hugging him, stroking his lower stomach and nuzzling his neck. Kíli tries to clear his mind. Contrary to his thoughts just a moment ago, he is getting surer by the minute that he _could_ stop this – well, some of it. Mitchell wouldn’t force him sexually, he did kind of wait for a yes after all – but he also looked _hungry_.

“What _are_ you?” he whispers, asking again. Trying to make some sense of all this. Mitchell freezes behind him. For a minute, nothing moves but Kíli’s heaving chest. He is still hard, and he is beginning to suspect it’s the danger turning him on so much. It’s an unsettling thought, but then everything in this situation is unsettling.

“ _Vampire._ ” It’s whispered against his neck. Kíli has heard of them in the legends. Blood drinkers. So his instincts _were_ right. It’s not much of a consolation, however.

“I can try to stop, but I can’t leave before the morning. -- And you smell so _delicious_. I’m starving, and I’m bound to go mad with hunger before the sun comes up. I can’t outrun the wolves like this.” A tongue licks the side of his neck. “-- I don’t want to kill you, but I don’t know if I can stop after I start.” It all reverberates in his skin, a confession and an apology. Mitchell’s hand on his stomach gets back to stroking, but otherwise he keeps still. Waiting.

Is he talking about eating or fucking? Maybe they are synonymous in his mind. Kíli realises he has a decision to make, yet he is missing vital information to make the right one. The vampire hugging him is clearly on the brink of something and doesn’t even have those answers himself.

Kíli turns his head, trying to make eye contact with his captor. Mitchell’s eyes have gone totally black. Nobody needs to tell him that this is a bad sign. He believes Mitchell when the vampire says he doesn’t want to kill, but it’s equally obvious there is a point of no return approaching fast and that Mitchell is barely holding it back now.

“I do not want to die”, he starts, “but if I have to, I would rather it was pleasant.”

Mitchell is still watching him, waiting. It is freaky how the black eyes seem devoid of all feelings, just fathomless depth in them. Yet it is clear to Kíli that Mitchell is not fully gone on evil, not yet at least.

“There’s a lamp next to the door, with lamp oil”, he continues, swallowing. It has to be better than blood or spit. He might have found out tonight that a little pain is a turn on, but there’s only so far he is willing to go with it. If he only has a choice.

Mitchell gets his meaning and leans over his shoulder, kissing him. It’s a sweet and soft kiss, nothing like the one before. It’s a thank you, I’m sorry, forgive me kiss. Kíli kisses back. The fear is still in his spine, but Mitchell is also a sinful temptation, the danger making his heart speed up and swamping him in lust. He might be crying silent tears into the kiss, his face getting wet, grieving for the now forever lost chance of having this with someone who has strong, loving hands and blond hair that shines like gold.

Mitchell wipes the tears from his cheeks, but doesn’t comment. His eyes look normal now, like the kiss helped him to regain some control of himself.

There’s a flash where Mitchell is gone and the next moment the arm around him is back and there are slick fingers massaging his rim. Mitchell takes his time and then there are two cold fingers penetrating him. After a few thrusts Mitchell adds a third and Kíli tenses up. It hurts now, but Mitchell stops his movement, waiting, and after a moment the pain fades away.

Mitchell keeps fucking him with those fingers while his other hand draws a deep scratch on Kíli’s stomach with his nails. Kíli smothers a moan in his arm from the pleasure-pain.

There’s a whisper in his ear. “You like pain, my beautiful?”

Again a flash of movement, and his dagger that was on the nightstand is now pressed against his throat. Mitchell’s fingers still in their motion, staying inside him. The dagger is dragged slowly downwards, across his pecs, Mitchell using just enough force to leave behind a thin bloody trace. Kíli clenches his hands on the headboard to keep still when the dagger slides over his abdominal muscles towards his groin. It hurts, of course it does, but again there is an edge of pleasure to go with it.

“ _Please no_ ,” he begs with a barely audible voice when the dagger reaches the base of his cock. He is still hard and he would be panting if he dared to breathe.

“Shh… I’ll make you feel good,” is the answering whisper. The point of the dagger travels along his cock with less pressure behind it, no longer breaking the skin, pausing at the slit, staying there. The flat side of the tip presses at the edge of his slit, the light pressure widening the small opening. A drop of precum dribbles out. Kíli is tense like a drawn bow, not knowing what to expect.

Slowly, Mitchell’s fingers in his ass start moving again. The dagger stays where it is, pressing his slit with a menacing air. Kíli strains his every muscle to keep motionless, letting Mitchell fuck his hole as he pleases. The scratch Mitchell made on his torso throbs with mild pain. It seems like an eternity of pleasurable torment before Mitchell finally withdraws his fingers and the dagger lifts off of his cock.

At last Kíli dares to breathe, dropping his head forward and catching huge gasps of air. Then Mitchell draws him on his lap, hugging him from behind. Kíli can’t help but relax against the hairy chest at his back, his feelings a stormy mess, hating that he _enjoyed_ that. Strong arms squeeze him soothingly and Mitchell presses small kisses at the back of his neck, whispering praise. “So good, Kíli. You were so good, so beautiful.”

From the side of his eye, Kíli sees that Mitchell raises the dagger to his mouth and licks the blood from its blade. Kíli does not need to look to know that Mitchell’s eyes have turned all black again. “I’m going to fuck you now”. There’s something very menacing in Mitchell’s voice, and at the back of his mind Kíli knows he probably doesn’t have long to live.

Mitchell raises him like he did not weigh more than a feather, and then he is impaled. For a moment he thinks he will split in two from the pain of it, but Mitchell still has some restraint left and he waits until Kíli relaxes, only then lowering Kíli the whole way.

For the first time since he woke up the combination of pain and fear was bad enough that Kíli has gone soft. Mitchell keeps him pinned in his lap and starts slowly stroking Kíli’s cock. Almost gently. Kíli can feel the tension vibrating in Mitchell’s body, and when he turns his head he can see the plain hunger and darkness in Mitchell’s black eyes. Kíli wonders how he is still alive, how the vampire is still holding back.

“Don’t look at me Kíli, close your eyes and just feel.” There is softness in the whispering voice, a hypnotic cadence, the menace gone, like the monster has retreated again. Kíli is getting hard again, his ass is full and all the scrapes in his body are radiating stinging and throbbing pain that somehow accentuates his pleasure.

Mitchell pushes him back on his knees and starts a steady rhythm of pushing into him. The constant jabbing of Mitchell’s cock on that one point inside him makes him want to scream, but before he can make a sound, there’s a hand over his mouth.

“Shh, silence, remember.” Mitchell’s soft whisper in his ear makes him shiver, and he would moan from that alone if the hand on his mouth wasn’t so tight. Mitchell’s rhythm never falters, and then he feels a tongue licking the back of his neck with long wet sweeps. A hand gripping his hip moves to circle around his cock, and the hand on his mouth drops to his throat. He can feel something sharp scraping against the side of his neck.

The hand on his throat presses down on his windpipe and his air is nearly cut off. The hand on his cock starts stroking in tune with Mitchell ramming his ass and he is going to go crazy. “Now!” It’s a command followed by a sharp stabbing pain on his neck and the world in his eyes flares impossibly bright, he would scream the relief of his release with the top of his voice if the hand on his throat wouldn’t prevent it, he really can’t breathe and the pain in his neck, pain everywhere feels so impossibly _good_ when the waves of pleasure course through him. And finally everything fades to black.

 

******

 

When Mitchell wakes up, it’s getting light outside and he can still taste the blood in his mouth. Why he is so clear-headed now, not still high on blood is a mystery. He closes his eyes, not willing to look beside him and see the mangled body there. Why can’t he find the courage to stake himself? How many more bodies must he leave behind, how many more faces must flash before his eyes before the remorse is enough to finally make him seek his own end?

It’s no use. He is not willing to die today either, and that means getting up and facing what he has done. He needs to find out how he got here – wherever here is – in the first place, and how to get back.

He steels himself, opens his eyes again and turns to see what his madness has wrought this time. Surprised, he realises the body next to him is warm and alive, albeit barely. But alive enough to live on and to not turn.

The relief nearly knocks him down again, but that’s when everything else starts to register. He was pretty out of it when he got in and thought some of it was a hallucination of some sort – but the body beside him is definitely not human. Not even a human with a short stature. It’s not only that the body is fully proportional, but the sturdy stature of the back, the strength used against him and most of all – the taste of blood in his mouth is different. Still good, but less – addicting.

So Kíli really is a dwarf. And a young one, he realises. Something like bile is rising in his mouth when it hits him how out of control he was last night, what he could have done. For all his crimes, there are some deviations he has never committed and never wanted to, even when he was deep in Herrick’s clutches.

He turns Kíli on his back and notices the shadow of a beard. Something he didn’t even feel last night when the bloodlust was consuming him. The marks on Kíli’s body are another shock. Not that Mitchell hasn’t done nearly anything and everything one can in and out of bed before this, but he is fairly sure Kíli was quite innocent where sex was concerned – and considering that, the evidence on the dwarf’s body of what went on the night before is staggering.

He does remember now. It does not make things better. He remembers _liking_ the fear and pain he could sense and taste from the dwarf. Remembers how it spiked his lust. He wants to hurl from the thought. He is getting as bad as Herrick. It doesn’t matter if Kíli liked it in the end or not – he was clearly not consenting to what happened – what matters is that Mitchell is becoming even more of the monster he has always hated.

He rises stiffly from the bed. Dawn is swiftly approaching and from Kíli he understood there were other dwarves living in the house. He needs to get out of here before anyone wakes. He looks around for his clothes and for the first time truly sees the insides of the room. This is definitely not the 21st century.

He feels rising panic and tries to stamp it down. The only explanation that comes to mind is witches. They have done something, sent him somewhere unknown. So how is he going to get back? He has nowhere to go and is probably going to stick out like a sore thumb in his clothes. And the wolves last night, he has an inkling they were not ordinary wolves. He suspects they knew what he was, at least on some level. Not werewolves, he could smell that, but he has a feeling the laws of nature he has been used to might not apply where he currently is. He is going to need a plan, and help, both of which seem to be of short supply right now.

He looks at Kíli. What he did – no help is going to come from the dwarves, that’s for sure. He needs another witch – or maybe a wizard, if this weird place has any. Yet there is the problem that the likelihood of any of them being willing to help a vampire are slim, even if he manages to find one. He is well and truly _fucked_.


End file.
